


Coming Clean

by hbomba



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: 3x09, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Freak Show, Fridget, Lesbian, Missing Scenes, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbomba/pseuds/hbomba
Summary: Set in episode 3x09 (“Freak Show”) and inspired by a line of dialogue from my fic (“Fallen”), Franky and Bridget have an illicit meeting in the janitor’s closet.
Relationships: Franky Doyle & Bridget Westfall, Franky Doyle/Bridget Westfall
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	Coming Clean

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween, everyone! Squeaking out a fic before NaNoWriMo steals me for at least a month. This one goes out to all of my faithful readers/commenters. I seriously appreciate you folks. Thanks for welcoming me back, I hope this is the best treat in your day today!

* * *

“What after all, is a halo? It's only one more thing to keep clean.”--Christopher Fry

* * *

_ What a morning. _ Bridget sighed. Jodie Spiteri had tried to gouge her own eye out and was shipped off to the hospital and, to make matters worse, Vera had just caught her with Franky in the library stacks. Shrewdly, Bridget had waylaid Vera by distracting her with theories about Ferguson. In the end, she wasn’t proud of herself for manipulating the situation, but self-preservation was a helluva thing. 

In fact, lately Bridget found herself doing a lot of things she never dreamed of. She’d disclosed her sexuality to an obviously like-minded prisoner, hidden her confession of murder, and allowed that prisoner to get close to her. It was not the judgment of the Bridget Westfall that had lasted twenty years in Corrections. She’d fallen down the rabbit hole of wanting that which she could not let herself have. But Franky was so bloody tempting.

After the staff meeting, Bridget made her way through the halls of Wentworth lost in thought. The women chattered around her, passing her by and when she stopped abruptly, a prisoner bumped into her knocking the file from her hand and scattering the papers held within it across the floor. 

“Shit,” she swore, squatting to pick up the mess of paperwork.

She was alone in a mass of teal legs, picking up papers and shoving them into the file in no particular order when a pair of white Converse stopped in front of her.

“Need a hand?”

Bridget looked up to see Franky, holding a mop, smiling down at her. “If you don’t mind.”

“Nah,” she said, squatting next to her and shuffling papers around. “Did you find anything out about Jodie?”

“It’s not good,” she said.

“Shit.” Franky handed Bridget a stack of pages and placed her hands on her knees to stand again. Bridget joined her, stuffing the papers into the folder as she stood next to Franky. “Can we talk?”

Bridget looked around anxiously. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“C’mon,” Franky said, tugging on her hand briefly. She pushed the mop bucket down the busy hallway to the janitorial closet and, casting a glance for screws, Franky ducked into the closet with the bucket, the door shutting behind her. 

Bridget stood in the hallway weighing her options. She could go into the closet with Franky and compromise herself further, or she could continue walking and leave Franky hanging. It was not a decision she relished by any stretch of the imagination but she had to make a decision before she was picking her papers off the floor again in the traffic of the hallway. She reasoned that Franky could have something important to tell her and that was the deciding factor. She was still a confidante of Franky’s and it was important to Bridget that she didn’t abandon her. Casually, she turned the knob and opened the door. 

Closing the door behind herself quickly, Bridget turned, squinting into the dimness of the closet, eyes coming to focus on Franky who was leaning up against the shelf of cleaning supplies. She kicked the mop bucket into the corner and smirked back at her. It was at that moment that Bridget realized Franky had nothing new to report, that the closet was a ruse to get her alone, and Bridget for all her bluster couldn’t even feel upset about it. 

“Franky, what’s this about?”

“What it has always been about, Gidget.” Franky’s good humor shone through her smile. 

“Okay,” she said. “I’m gonna go.”

“Is that what you really want?” Franky asked.

Bridget closed her eyes and sighed. “Franky…” 

When she opened her eyes Franky took a step towards her and reached for her. Bridget didn’t back away or flinch, instead she kept her eyes trained on Franky who moved closer still. She was being pulled into Franky’s orbit, her gravity too strong to ignore. 

Franky stopped in front of her, arm leaning onto the shelf as she stood, proud of the effect she was having on Bridget. “I was thinking…” Franky said quietly. “What if we stopped pretending?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” She leaned forward. “The reason you opened that door and stepped inside a janitor’s closet with a prisoner…” She sighed quietly. “Not entirely innocent.”

She straightened. “I thought you needed to tell me something, Franky.”

“I do.”

“What’s on your mind?” Her voice was soothing and therapeutic.

“You, mostly.” She clicked her tongue.

“Franky, we can’t…”

“There aren’t any cameras here. We’re off the grid.” Franky’s hand extended to brush a strand of hair from Bridget’s face. Bridget closed her eyes and enjoyed the small but important touch. She leaned her cheek against Franky’s palm. “Just let go,” Franky whispered before leaning in to kiss her softly.

Franky’s kiss was a delicate thing, which was something that surprised Bridget. She didn’t pull away or resist because Franky was right, she wanted to be in that tiny broom closet with her. She took a step forward, stumbling into Franky’s space and kissed her back with a gusto. Franky grunted against her mouth as she landed hard against the shelf.

Franky’s hands were in her hair, caressing her neck, and finally holding her tightly against her body. She was stronger than Bridget expected, and it seemed as though Bridget had miscalculated quite a lot about Franky as she unzipped her hoodie and yanked her arms out of the sleeves. 

_ What the hell am I doing? _ She thought briefly, before Franky pulled her tank top over her head. And there, in her hot pink bra and a wicked grin, Franky enticed her more. And without further thought Bridget was unzipping her top and shrugging out of it. 

Franky kissed her again, this time there was nothing delicate about her kiss. In fact, this kiss was what she had been expecting. Her lips were hungry and Bridget matched her intensity, kissing her back with a fervor she couldn’t remember having before.

Pushing off the shelf, Franky leaned into her, hands on Bridget’s hips as she walked her toward the back wall. When Bridget’s rear hit the large utility sink, she gasped. Her arms found their way around Franky’s neck in the dark corner of the closet as Franky’s hands explored her body. 

She felt alive with the danger and exhilaration of the situation. Everything in her bones told her to bail out, to leave that tiny closet for the sake of her career. To protect the years she had put her heart and soul into caring for others. But something in her also opposed the withdrawal from the situation. 

Bridget was feeling selfish and she didn’t want to play it safe anymore. The prisoners had made up a scandal before anything had actually happened and Vera was sniffing around, looking for any reason to rat her out to Ferguson, so it would make sense that she’d be apprehensive about having a pash in the broom closet. What didn’t make sense was how she ignored all of that as Franky lifted her off the ground and set her on the sink’s surround. 

And there, on the edge of the sink and reason, Bridget gave herself over to the other woman. Her brain was clouded with arousal and genuine affection for Franky. It had been tremendously gratifying to watch her grow in the months that had passed since their first meeting. It wasn’t unusual to watch a prisoner bloom in therapy, but usually one as tough to crack as Franky was not into self-improvement. 

But then there was nothing usual about Franky. She’d resisted for weeks, sitting in her office and bitching about kitchen deliveries or something as equally inconsequential during their sessions, and then as Bridget began to break the rules, Franky began to follow them. She actually seemed invested in the idea of parole after hope returned when Ms. Bennett dropped the verbal abuse charges and from then on, her treatment had been productive and--dare she admit?--enjoyable. 

Franky’s mouth was on her neck, her tongue sweeping across Bridget’s pounding pulse point as she sunk her hands into Franky’s hair. Her legs wrapped around Franky’s rear and Franky pressed herself into the vee of Bridget’s thighs. She arched into Franky and sighed to the ceiling. 

There was another brief moment when she took hold of her faculties and considered the repercussions of getting caught but once again, any thought was wiped away with a sweep of Franky’s hand--this time it was creeping across her belly, unfastening her belt and trousers. Bridget gripped Franky’s hips, pushing her fingers into the hem of her track pants and beneath the edge of her matching hot pink underwear. 

Her skin was hot, almost scorching to the touch, but Bridget did not flinch or pull away. She held her hands there, feeling the heat of her against her palms and pushed the fabric over Franky’s hips. And Franky-- _ oh God, Franky _ \--had reached into Bridget’s black lace underwear to cup her roughly. 

Their eyes met, Franky’s green eyes sparkling with a wickedness that was altogether enticing and frightening at once. Bridget didn’t know what her eyes were telegraphing to Franky at that moment. She was torn, but she knew that she wanted it to happen. She had tried to be strong, walking away more than once, but she had entered that closet willingly and she was staying in it stubbornly. It was time.

As Franky’s finger explored her depths, Bridget felt her legacy begin to crumble. Her curvaceous hips in Bridget’s loving and lonely hands, Franky pressed herself more firmly against her center. Her eyes drifted shut again as Franky continued to tease her.

The closet smelled of bleach and generic lemon soaps and cleaners. It could have been worse, but the mildewing mop heads in the corner were pretty bad. When Franky sunk a finger into her, Bridget bit her lip to keep from crying out with pleasure, especially when her thumb swept across Bridget’s most tender place as she continued to plunge deeply into her.

The air in Bridget’s lungs left her in a whoosh. She dropped her forehead to Franky’s shoulder, rolling back and forth as Franky kept up her measures of pleasure. Driven by the need to touch Franky, Bridget dipped her hand deeper into Franky’s track pants. What she discovered there told Bridget everything she needed to know: she was wet and Bridget hadn’t even touched her yet. She moaned at the realization that she had aroused such a reaction in Franky, who kissed her fervently. 

Everything after was a blur. Her need outweighed rational thought and Franky’s need was like a gravity well, pulling her deeper into the moment and holding her there. It was remarkable, the way she controlled the moment, all the while neither one acknowledging the weight of the situation they were embroiled in. 

There was nothing sexy about their need. It was messy and clunky, but sometimes perfection was just that. Franky gyrated against her, Bridget’s other hand gripping Franky’s shoulder, holding on for dear life as Franky’s fingers drove her to the brink. And when she came, it was an earth crumbling, reality shattering thing, and she clung to Franky, whose breath came in short bursts signaling her climax was near, too. A few moments later, Franky dropped her head to Bridget’s shoulder, muffling her cries as she orgasmed. 

They stayed entangled, Bridget on the sink, legs wrapped around the back of Franky’s thighs, and Franky snugly fitting in the vee of her legs. It was bliss, the afterglow that claimed her, and it was only when there was a bang in the hallway outside that reality sunk back in. 

Franky pulled her hand from Bridget’s underwear and Bridget withdrew from Franky’s warmth as well. It was bittersweet the way she groaned at her absence because Bridget knew regret would start to creep in as soon as the excess oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin dissipated from her brain. 

And it would not be regret for having done what they did, but rather for the unfortunate circumstances that let them meet at such a time in their lives when being together was wrong. 

Franky leaned against the sink with her hands on either side of Bridget. “So that just happened,” Franky said, grinning at her, face still flushed from her release.

“Yeah, it did.” Bridget chuckled, buttoning her trousers. An awkward moment fed into the hormone driven sadness she felt immediately thereafter. “Franky…” Bridget’s voice was tinged with quiet desperation as she reached for Franky’s face..

“You don’t have to say anything.” Franky took Bridget’s hand away from her cheek. “Let it stand on its own. It happened.” She nodded at Bridget. “We good?”

“No.” She sighed. “I didn’t want to use you.”

“Trust me, I wanted to be used.” Franky smirked.

“No. No, you didn’t.”

Franky stepped back from the sink and Bridget slipped back down to the floor gingerly. She had hit a nerve. “You know something, Gidge? It’s really fuckin’ annoying the way you crawl into my head and say the shit that I’m trying so hard to hide from you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Franky adjusted her track pants and reached for her tank top, abandoned on the shelf next to some cleaners. “I think you like having an unfair advantage.” She pulled the tank top over her head and stretched an arm into her hoodie.”You could at least try to pretend.”

“Franky, I’ve been pretending with you since day one.” Bridget sighed. “In case you were wondering, I don’t fuck prisoners in broom closets as a general rule.”

Zipping up her hoodie, Franky laughed. It was a relieved expulsion of air more than anything, but Bridget read her loud and clear. “I didn’t figure.”

“Good.” Bridget smiled and reached for her top. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have an appointment in…” She checked her watch. “Fifteen minutes.” She straightened her clothing and checked her hair in the reflection of the paper towel dispenser. 

“Back to work, huh?” Franky tutted. “For someone who’s never done this before, you sure are as cool as a cucumber.”

Bridget smiled. “Looks can be deceiving.” Truth was, she was a complete mess underneath the cool, calm exterior. She was starting to have feelings for Franky and it set her on edge. Things like this were not supposed to happen to Bridget Westfall. 

She reached for the doorknob.

“Wait,” Franky blurted.

Bridget withdrew her hand and turned to face Franky. “What is it?”

Franky had walked up behind her, close enough that she could feel her exhale in the silence of the closet. Intensity crackled between them and Bridget swallowed hard in an attempt to keep her heart from beating out of her chest.

There was a long, aching pause before Franky spoke again. “Let me go first. I’ll distract ‘em.”

“Yeah, okay.” She tried hard to hide the disappointment in her voice, but Franky caught it.

“Chin up, Gidge.” Franky smiled at her as she brushed past to the door.

The doorknob clicked open and Bridget took a few steps backwards into the darkness as Franky exited the small closet. The problem with all those chemicals in her brain was that they left her feeling needy and, as she was learning, when one fucks someone in a broom closet in a prison there is not much time for pillow talk or cuddling afterwards. 

Bridget sighed. 

A double-knock on the door and she shook her head to clear the fog. Time to get her thoughts together and put her head on straight. Or as straight as she could manage when she was always looking for Franky. She walked toward the door, lifting her file off the shelf on her way by, opening it quickly stepping out into the busy hallway once again.

Franky was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, pink underwear peeking out of her teal trackies, her grin as ebullient as her sex appeal. “Have a nice day, Ms. Westfall,” she heard Franky say as she passed by her hurriedly.

The walk back to her office felt like an eternity. She kept her head down, hoping no one would stop her to chat or ask anything of her. Truthfully, she was still with Franky in her mind and the walk back to her office was the detox she needed before her next appointment.

However, the problem was that she spent the entire appointment squirming in her seat as she tried to focus on anything but what she had done with Franky a half hour prior. As she ushered her last client of the day out of her office, Bridget breathed a sigh of relief. The day was done.

Well, almost.

She gathered her notes from the day’s sessions and sorted the files on her desk before grabbing her coat and leaving her office for the final time that day. She made her way past admissions and through to H block to find Franky’s cell. The common area was empty when she entered the unit and made her way to cell twenty-two. 

She opened the door and stepped inside, but Franky was not there. She moved to leave but something stopped her. She took a moment to appreciate the Franky-ness of her surroundings--the cell was neat, and everything from the magazine clippings on her corkboard to the law books on her shelf screamed Franky. 

She sat on the edge of Franky’s bunk, contemplating the impropriety of being in Franky’s cell alone, much less  _ with  _ her when and if Franky returned.

The cell door opened abruptly and Franky’s shocked expression turned to a grin. She looked out into the common area, pulling the door shut behind her. “Two times in one day? It’s not my birthday.”

Bridget stood up self-consciously. “Franky, I…” She sighed. “It didn’t feel right,” she started. “How we left things.” 

“I dunno, it felt pretty good to me.”

“Franky…”

“Gidget...don’t stress. We’re good.”

She spent considerable time cataloging Franky’s actions and reactions since being assigned to treat clients at Wentworth and Franky’s reaction was consistent with what she knew of her. It was Bridget who was having the trouble with her own reaction.

She narrowed her eyes at Franky. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Franky smiled. “Are  _ you  _ sure that’s the only reason you and I are alone in my cell?” She took a step towards Bridget and sidled up to her.

“I was on my way out for the day.”

“So you detoured down here to see me? I’m touched.”

“I know it probably seems pretty silly to you, but I do care, Franky.”

“I know ya do.” 

Bridget nodded. “Good.” She smiled.

_ “Attention compound, attention compound. H block is now called to dinner.”  _

“I’m gonna go…” Bridget motioned awkwardly.

“See ya ‘round, Gidge.” 

“You will.” Bridget pursed her lips and stepped past Franky, pushing the cell door open and leaving the unit unseen. The halls were teeming with prisoners heading for their meal break and the noise outside her head was louder than the noise inside her head for once. 

She left the prison, absentmindedly sitting in the quiet of her car for a good ten minutes thinking about Franky and that damn janitor’s closet. Looking at herself in the rearview mirror, she barely recognized herself. What she had done had so changed how she even saw herself that Bridget had to look away. It was not shame, nor fear of reprisal that fed her avoidance but rather her own disappointment that she could not pursue her further.

She thought about Franky and the way she compartmentalized what they had done so easily. She realized that Franky probably had to do that with a lot of things in prison so she had plenty of practice. But Bridget, who was also a fan of putting things in boxes, still found herself at a loss in this situation. 

She didn’t want to put a pin in it. She was tired of living a solitary existence. And she was angry that Life had played such a trick on her, once again, by leading her to Franky at a time and a place where they could not pursue a relationship. 

But Franky would be up for parole soon, and, with any luck, all their hard work in session would finally reap the reward of her release. And maybe, just maybe, there could be something more between them. 

Now, as she entered her home alone, at the end of a day she was likely never to forget, Bridget Westfall felt unbreakable. What she had done didn’t define her, but it helped her understand who she was and more importantly it clarified what Franky truly meant to the psychologist. Only time would tell where it would or could lead and Bridget was prepared to wait and see. 

* * *

Fin. 


End file.
